


A Very Different Level

by Violsva



Series: A Few Acres of Pine Trees and Snow [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: A Scandal in Bohemia, Alternate Universe - Canada, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Race Changes, Canada, Everything I know about the business of theatre I learned from Slings and Arrows, F/M, Female Characters of Colour, Gen, Genderswap, Hacker!Sherlock, Toronto, Women Being Awesome, opera - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:22:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/pseuds/Violsva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A major figure in the music industry wants the assistance of a consulting detective. A consulting detective’s assistant wants a distraction. The Canada Council for the Arts wants accountability. Two of them will be disappointed, but honestly, Jane Wang can’t say she minds.</p><p>Or, how to do A Scandal in Bohemia with no sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Different Level

**Author's Note:**

> The Canadian Opera Company does in fact exist, and has real directors and lawyers, and is based in the real Four Seasons Centre for the Performing Arts. Furthermore, Bohemian Events appears to be the name of a couple actual existing companies, none of which was the model for the company in this fic. However, the events, institutions, and characters in this story are entirely made up, mostly by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and no resemblance to any real events, persons, corporations, or businessmen is intended.
> 
> Thanks for editing and ideas go to my best friend, my girlfriend, and my ten year old niece, whose advice was extremely sensible and helpful.

I’d been living with Xu-lai for a couple years before the case, and my EI had mostly run out. I was browsing for jobs on my laptop, trying not to reflexively rub my shoulder whenever I read the words “Must be able to lift up to fifty pounds.” I couldn’t be a paramedic since the shooting, but I still couldn’t think of anything else I wanted to do other than follow my roommate around.

Xu-lai was leaning back on the futon reading her email. “Stop that,” she said eventually, not bothering to look up. “You hate it. We make enough from cases, and we’re expecting someone.”

“You mean _you_ make enough from cases,” I said. It was nice of her to say things like that, but it wasn’t equal contribution, and I knew it even if she was too polite to complain.

“You’re essential to my work,” said Xu-lai.

“I can’t tell if someone’s a chef by shaking his hand,” I said.

“The fact that you don’t take the time to observe is irrelevant to my argument,” she said. “ _I_ can do that. You doing it too would be redundant. I need a reliable assistant, and backup, and your medical knowledge. I’m not losing them to whatever waste of your talents you find on Craigslist.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry about that,” I said. “It looks like you’re the only one who wants my talents.”

Xu-lai tilted her head. “It’s the fourth anniversary of your getting shot next Wednesday,” she said. “Sorry, that was stupid. I forgot. Now _pay attention_ when I say you’re useful, Jane. Anyway, you wouldn’t want to miss the cases, would you?”

I hadn’t realized the date. I had nothing to remind me of it anymore except my shoulder, not like when I was still in Vancouver. I realized I was smiling at Xu-lai. She does that. “Who are we expecting?” I asked.

“A representative of Bohemian Events,” she said. “American, judging by the spelling. They’ve got a case.” She’s always the same when she says that, huge amounts of excitement balanced by the expectation that she’ll be disappointed. She kind of glows, without actually changing her expression.

“What kind?”

“The kind that’s ‘too sensitive for online communication,’” she said. “Most likely that means slightly illegal. There’ll be money in it, anyway. I’d prefer something without the corporate paranoia, but we can’t be picky. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“So, you think it’s, what, tax fraud or something?”

“Or something. Get the door.” A second later, the bell rang.

I went upstairs and got the door. It was a businessman, about a foot taller than me and built like a football player, who said, “I’m here for Ms. Ho,” as if I were her butler or something. I let him in and waved at the coat rack. His suit probably cost more than our rent.

I led him back down the stairs, ignoring the way he looked around at the entrance to our basement apartment. “Ms. Ho?” he said, as we entered the living room. Xu-lai looked up. “I emailed you.” He didn’t seem very impressed by a private detective with a buzz cut wearing yoga pants and a t-shirt saying ‘I void warranties.’

“Yes, you did,” she said. “From your business address. Sit down. And who are you?”

He smiled, taking the armchair. “I’m Conrad Kramm, an employee of Bohemian Events,” he said. “As I said in my email, this is a confidential affair involving company secrets. If your friend will leave, we can get down to business.”

“Jane Wang is my assistant. If you don’t want her to know about the case, consult someone else.”

“Well, then, I guess that’s all right. Both of you, of course, will have to sign this.” He held out a contract. Xu-lai glanced over it, signed it, and handed it to me. I managed to understand the phrase “for a term of not less than two years,” but that was about it. I signed it and handed it back.

“Good,” said Kramm. “This is of vast importance to certain expansion plans we have. I won’t go into details.”

“Details are usually very important,” said Xu-lai, appearing absorbed in her netbook.

“Yes. Well, I’m a big picture man, myself, and this is a huge picture.”

“I guess so, Mr. Ormstein, if the CEO is involving himself.”

He stared at her.

“Don’t use the default privacy settings on Facebook,” Xu-lai added casually.

“Right,” he said. “Okay then. Yes, I’m Bill Ormstein. This is too important to be trusted to anyone else. You see why you signed the contract. But I needed to consult you.”

“Then _consult_.” The glow from earlier was definitely turning into boredom.

“Right. Okay. Do you know who Irene Adler is?”

Xu-lai typed something. She was on her own private database, which seemed to be hooked up to pretty much every website and newspaper online. “Irene Marilyn Adler,” she said after a second. “Born in New Jersey 1958. B.Mus., 1980, Juilliard. Opera singer and stage manager at various companies for the next fifteen years. MBA, 1995, UofT. Production manager, Canadian Opera Company. Appointed general director of the COC in 2008. You don’t have anything to do with opera, so I don’t see how this is relevant.”

“We’re thinking of branching out. You don’t know much about the media industry, do you?” He was back to smiling, apparently recovered from his surprise earlier.

“Your company owns five record labels, two radio channels, a few hundred music venues, and a publisher. But the opera company can’t pay for itself. Why would you want it?”

“We don’t want the company. We want the _venue_. The Four Seasons Centre – we might have to change the name. But right in the middle of downtown Toronto, beautiful architecture, parking – it’s perfect. But it’s only used for opera. Think of the possibilities! We’d keep the opera company more or less intact, of course, for traditionalists, but scale it back, so our other clients could use the space. It’d be a rival to Roy Thomson Hall in less than a year. It’ll put Toronto on the map in terms of entertainment. It won’t just be pretending to be the Canadian New York anymore. But we can’t do this until we own the COC.”

“But you can’t just take it over,” I said. “It’s partially government funded, right?”

“We could. If certain information about how it’s being run came to light.”

“Oh?” said Xu-lai, perking up.

“Yes. That’s what you’re for.” He leaned back in his chair. “I have several contacts on the COC’s Board of Directors. They’ve been having some problems lately. Conflicts of interest, bad associations with donors, stars missing performances – I don’t need to go into details. And I regret the difficulties they’ve been having. I think I can turn their show around and make it work. And I know that something worse is going to show up soon.

“You see, we’ve found evidence that Ms. Adler’s husband, one of the COC’s lawyers, has been ... negotiating, shall we say, with several theatrical agencies, in ways that I’m afraid aren’t quite ethical. He’s making sure the Opera Company gets the most favourable terms possible from their performers, and he’s not too worried about the legalities. Of course, if this came out to the public it would be the end of the Company’s position in the industry. Funding would drop like a stone. No more prestige, no more respectability, nothing. Which would be terrible. So if you can get better evidence, I’ll present it to the Board and convince them that they need my help to fix things up. And then Bohemian can bring the COC back, and take it into the twenty-first century.”

“You want me to break into -” Xu-lai skimmed her netbook screen “- Godfrey Norton’s email. Better, the computer system at Marlowe, Norton, and Spenser, LLP. Well, that’s interesting enough.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Well, we’ve had someone on that, actually. But he covers his tracks. And I think it’s not just him. I think Ms Adler is doing most of it, working through him. So if there’s a full outline of what they’re doing, she’ll have it. And she’s not a lawyer, not so savvy, she must have something for us. A paper trail.”

“And you haven’t had your ‘someone’ look at her?”

“We have. They even thought they’d found it. But they can’t get into it. My people say they’re starting to think there’s nothing really there, but I don’t believe them.”

Xu-lai grinned. “Well, they aren’t me. How do you know she hasn’t destroyed everything, though?”

“It’s too organized. They couldn’t be doing what they’re doing without records. And they must have future plans – I’ve looked into their draft schedules for the next few seasons, and it’s really more than they could expect to manage without some kind of advantage.”

“I’ll need copies,” said Xu-lai. “And all the other information you’ve already found.” Ormstein handed her a USB drive. “Does this also have a list of all the ways you’ve tried to get to her already?”

“Yes.”

“Good. When do you want it by?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Very precise. How about money?”

Ormstein took out a chequebook, tore off the top one, and handed it to her. Xu-lai glanced at it and nodded. “And upon receiving the information?” she said. She normally named her terms up front. If she was letting him pick the amount, it probably meant he was giving her way more than she’d ask for, and that she was perfectly happy taking all he had. I decided never to ask how much the cheque was for.

“The same again.”

“You’ve got a contract for that?”

He handed her another sheet of paper, which she read very carefully.

“Good.” She signed it, gave it back, and fiddled with her laptop for a second. “And she lives on Serpentine Avenue. Fine. Email me if you want anything else.”

It took Ormstein a second to figure out that she’d dismissed him. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, standing with an attempt at dignity. “See you later.”

*

The next day, Xu-lai dressed a lot more femininely than she usually does and left while I was still in my pyjamas. I stared at her a little over my breakfast. She settled a wig on her head and adjusted it in the mirror by the door. “Where are you going?” I asked.

“Observation,” she said. “See you later.”

She had left Google Maps open on her laptop, zoomed into part of Forest Hill. That might mean she thought she’d need help. Or that she wanted to reassure me she wasn’t doing anything interesting without me.

Monster.ca was not really appealing. I went to the kitchen and started washing the dishes. It took a while.

Thirty-two years old, and I was living like a college student again, I thought, retrieving a plate from my bedside table. Maybe I should go to grad school, or college, so I’d have an excuse for it. But I’d just paid off my first student loans four years ago when I got shot; I didn’t want more already. And Xu-lai’s work didn’t really fit with class schedules.

My parents would tell me to go back to med school, but if it hadn’t worked the first time...

Before I could really start on that again, Xu-lai appeared, beaming. I grinned back. “It went well?”

“Oh yeah. I don’t have the password, but that shouldn’t take long. I’ll need your help for her office.”

“Well, how’d you get into her house without my help, then?”

“I didn’t. All I had to do was hide in the bushes and get into her private network through the wireless.”

“Why can’t you just do that again?”

“Proximity. I scoped out the Four Seasons Centre this morning. I can’t get close enough to the offices without being disturbed.”

“So sneak in at night.” This is what happens if you live with Xu-lai for too long. You start advocating for breaking and entering because it’s _simpler_.

“I thought you objected to that kind of thing,” said Xu-lai, still grinning. “It’s too conspicuous. Lucky you don’t object, though, since you might have to break the law for this one.”

“ _Which_ law?”

“It’s nothing serious. Just do exactly what I tell you. Now I need to change. You too.”

“Change to what?”

“White collared shirt, black pants, unobtrusive makeup.”

I thought about that. “I’m going to be a waitress, aren’t I?”

“Of course. No one will notice another, probably not even the catering staff. High turnover rate.”

“Do I get paid?”

“Nope. Go on, get dressed.”

When I was ready, Xu-lai was still gone. A few minutes later she walked out of her room. Or someone did.

I will never get used to it. The first time I saw her disguised as a man in our apartment I almost called the police. “People notice a tall, short-haired woman,” she had explained. “As a man, I’m average.”

She wasn’t average. Inconspicuous, maybe. But – look, I’m not – girls aren’t my thing. But Xu-lai in drag is, well.

Anyway. She was dressed mostly the same as me, in black and white, but with her face made up to emphasize the angles, and whatever else she did to disguise herself. I guess it’s easier for her than it would be for me – she’s skinny. But it isn’t just about her looks. She changes her entire self when she’s in disguise – gestures, expressions, voice. She moved completely differently than she had going out that morning in a dress and a wig. She looked me over and said, “Tie your hair back.” I did.

“Good. All you need to do is act naturally and keep this in your pocket.” She handed me something small and black. I have no idea what it was, I’m not the computer genius in this apartment. “I’ll leave the room shortly after we get in. If it doesn’t vibrate, you’re fine. If it does, or if certain people leave the room while I’m gone, find a fire alarm station that isn’t easily visible, and pull it.”

“That’s _less_ conspicuous?”

“Everything should be fine. This is just the contingency plan.”

“Don’t they have permanent ink or something?” I was a paramedic for more than five years, and that was the only objection I came up with. She’s a terrible influence.

“Only in high schools. Find one that the security cameras aren’t looking at either. You remember how to recognize -?”

“ _Yes_ , Xu-lai. Okay, I can do that. And while I’m ruining everyone’s evening, you’ll be copying over the hard drive in Adler’s office?”

“Yes. Call a cab, will you?” I sighed. Xu-lai hates taking the subway. “Jane, trust me, we can afford it.”

Xu-lai made the taxi let us off two blocks from the Opera House, and we walked east on Queen. It was nice enough that it didn’t matter that I hadn’t expected to need my coat.

“It’s right next to a subway station!” I said when we were nearly there. “Xu-lai -”

Xu-lai dragged me across the street before the lights changed, rolling her eyes. We went through the main doors of the huge glass building, and she strode confidently through an extremely arty open foyer, all glass walls and hardwood floors, to a much more boring back hallway. She pushed open a door and we were in the kitchen, with a group of people dressed like us standing around awkwardly and a bunch of staff in white coats making up trays.

I tried to hang back, thinking I’d blend in when everyone started moving, but Xu-lai led me right up to the man who looked the busiest. “We are David’s friends,” she said, pulling on an accent like a sweater. “He probably mentioned us?”

“Oh, yeah, right,” said the man, barely looking up. “You’re a bit late. You’ve done this before, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re on appetizers. About five more minutes, now.”

“Who’s David?” I whispered as we went over to the other servers.

“There’s always someone named David,” she said. “It was at least the fifth most popular boys’ name from the 1940s to the 1980s. They’ll just be glad of the extra help, and no one will ask who we are now.”

“I’ve never done this before,” I said, glancing at the other servers. I’d managed to get interesting summer jobs back in university, unlike now.

“Just circulate and don’t drop anything,” said Xu-lai.

That was the hard part, it turned out. The trays were a lot heavier than I’d expected. I tried to keep my left arm, the good one, supporting most of the weight. We spent at least half an hour serving and no one seemed to notice anything weird. I tried not to make it obvious that I was watching Xu-lai, but she never once looked at me.

Finally a woman said, “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming,” and everyone turned.

She was gorgeous, dark haired with grey at her temples, in a long black sheath dress. I hope I look that good when I’m fifty, but honestly I don’t look that good now.

“Welcome to the Canadian Opera Company’s production of Gioachino Rossini’s _Tancredi_ ,” she said. Someone tapped lightly on my shoulder and I turned.

“That’s her,” said Xu-lai. She’d ditched her tray somewhere. “Norton’s on her right. The other man is her PA. Watch all of them and keep them in the room.” I nodded.

“The role of Tancredi is one of the most challenging contralto roles in the operatic canon,” Ms. Adler was saying. I’d missed some of her speech listening to Xu-lai. “It requires great range and endurance of its performers. It’s a particularly meaningful role for me personally, as it was my first role at the COC, twenty-five years ago. In this season’s production, I am proud to welcome one of our own Canadian rising stars in the role, Clotilde Lothman.” She gestured dramatically and another woman stepped up to her.

“Stop listening and act like a waitress,” said Xu-lai, and then she disappeared. I hoisted my tray up to a normal height and turned around to start serving again.

It’s harder than you’d think to watch three people while offering everyone else in the room salmon sliders. Luckily, I had most of my tray left, so as long as I went slowly I wouldn’t have to go back to the kitchen for another. More luckily, none of the three moved much except Ms. Adler’s PA. He stepped back towards a wall when she had given the floor to the conductor and started quietly talking on his phone. I hoped it wasn’t about Xu-lai.

She appeared behind me when I was starting to wonder whether I would get strange looks for walking around with an empty tray. “Got it,” she said. “And no need for any dramatics. Good. Drop your tray off in the kitchen. We’ll duck out the back.”

No one noticed us leave, either. Everyone except us had something else to be doing, and Xu-lai seemed to know where all the exits were. When we got to the street she waved for a cab and we were back in our apartment amazingly quickly.

Xu-lai went straight to her desk and picked up one of her less-used laptops. I took my hair out of its ponytail and started making green tea. My shoulder was acting up, unsurprisingly.

“Password,” said Xu-lai thoughtfully. She must have put an SD card into the laptop. “I could just run it through the password cracker, but let’s see...” She typed a few things, said, “Oh good, she’s not an idiot,” and leaned forward. I put a cup of tea on her desk. “Nothing obvious,” she muttered, staring at the screen. “It’d be something personal, though, not random – she’s an artist. Something connected to the opera – that’s what would naturally suggest itself to her. What connects her to the company? Jane!” she said, turning suddenly. “What was she talking about in that speech?”

“You told me not to listen.”

“At the beginning. _Tancredi_. What was it?”

“She, um, introduced the actress? And said she’d starred in it – it was the first opera she was in in Toronto.”

“Perfect. Thank you.” She turned back, tried a couple of guesses, then laughed.

“Conoscera1 ch1 son quando cadra1,” she said. “Meaningful _and_ hard to crack – requires actual knowledge of the opera, and Italian. Too long for a brute force attack. I think I like her. Now leave me alone for a while, I need to concentrate.”

She spent the next twenty-four hours at her desk. She started focused. Then she grew interested – it’s really obvious when Xu-lai’s interested in something. Then she said “Excellent!” and started muttering to herself as she worked. Around this point I went to bed.

The next morning she was still there, with two empty coffee pots – just the pots, no mugs – and a frown line between her eyebrows. She wasn’t responsive, but she got like that sometimes. I made extra toast and put it next to her, and an hour later it was gone.

As far as I knew, she didn’t get up all day. I put a grilled cheese sandwich and an apple next to her in the afternoon and she ate those too, still without seeming to notice.

Around seven that night, she shoved herself away from her desk and her chair rolled back until it hit the futon.

“Well?” I asked.

She kept glaring.

“Did you get into it, Xu-lai?”

Xu-lai pointed at her laptop. Smiling from the screen was Irene Adler, wearing a wedding dress and standing in front of an arbour with the man who’d been next to her at the premiere.

“ _Wedding photos_ ,” said Xu-lai, with disgust. “ _Wedding photos_. That’s all that’s on the entire drive. It’s locked like a bank vault, it’s encrypted up to _here_ , the hard drive was even in an actual _secret drawer_ in her office – and it’s _wedding photos_. I’ve looked at every file on this thing, I’ve gone over every pixel of them, and there’s nothing there. There’s no files zipped behind them, there’s no coded information – if there’s any data stored in the photos it’s too deep for me to find, and nothing is too deep for me to find. She faked them. _Both_ of them, the one in her office and the one at home.”

“How do you know it was on purpose?”

She went back to the laptop, clicked a few times, and handed it to me.

It was open to a document titled “Vows draft.docx.” It read:

_To the agents of Mr. William Ormstein,_

_I’m sure your employer won’t mind my writing to you directly. I am far more impressed by you than by him, if you’ve managed to get this far. Unfortunately, it isn’t far enough._

_I’m afraid you won’t find anything else. I’m sure you tried your best, and I doubt I’ll even know about it if you manage to get far enough to read this, but I take precautions. The actual files you might be looking for do not in fact exist. Godfrey is not quite so unethical as rumor indicates. Gossip is a very useful thing to manipulate, especially when you know someone’s looking for blackmail material._

_I advise your client to find a new area for expansion, unless he wants his own status to suffer a major change. Also, he should know that we’ll be reorganizing our Board of Directors soon. Any further investigation into our affairs will be not only fruitless but also pointless, and will lead to unpleasant consequences for his corporation, I can assure him. But I’ll remember_ you _, if you don’t mind, in case we are ever in need of your services in future._

_Sincerely,_

_Irene Adler Norton_

I stared at it with her.

“So what are you doing now?” I asked, when it became clear that she wasn’t going to say anything.

“Just a sec.” Xu-lai did something incomprehensible with files and different windows, and then opened an email to w.ormstein@bohemian.com and inserted the document as an attachment. “None of my business,” she said. “The case is over.” She grinned like a firework. “Let’s have dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Oh yeah. Momofuku. He’s paying, after all. Come on.”

“He can’t be paying if you didn’t find anything.”

She smirked. “Too late. I’ve already deposited his cheque. Also, the specific wording on the contract was payment ‘upon receiving all information sufficient to clearly show the state of her records of any and all corrupt activities.’ That’s pretty clear. Let’s go.”

“But...” I said. “But aren’t you disappointed?”

She stared at me, and then laughed. “Disappointed? This was _brilliant_! She’s amazing! I don’t know how she did it, giving him just enough evidence to make him _certain_ there was more, without him even realizing it was _her_ , but this was _awesome_. Come on, get dressed.”

“So you mean she hasn’t actually done anything?”

“Do you think she has? That would be _fascinating_ , if all this were a blind – but also pointless. No, she hasn’t done anything. She’s just making sure Ormstein has no credit whatsoever with the board of directors, no matter how much he donates. And scaring him out of trying, too. Now come on, put on something nice, I’m taking you out for ridiculously overpriced Japanese.”

*

A year later, Xu-lai got a letter in the mail. We don’t check the mailbox much – everything important comes in email – so I have no idea how long it was sitting there. I dropped it on the table on my way in and didn’t think much about it until I saw Xu-lai sitting there an hour later.

“There was a letter for you,” I said.

“Yes, I’m holding it,” she said. “Not just for me, though.” She handed me a piece of paper.

 _COC Season Pass_. With a list of the productions, and _With our compliments_ written across it.

“Was there anything else in the envelope?” I asked.

“No,” she said, shoving herself away from the table and sliding under her desk as if the conversation was completely unimportant. But she slipped her pass into her pocket first, and we’ve been to the opera more times in the last month than my entire life before.

**Author's Note:**

> A further short snippet in this universe can be found [here](http://violsva.dreamwidth.org/12333.html).


End file.
